


pie goeth before the fall

by signalbeam



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Advice, Alternate Universe, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-11-02 05:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signalbeam/pseuds/signalbeam
Summary: Written for a prompt: AU where the Magnus Archives is an advice column.





	pie goeth before the fall

Dear Gertrude, 

I’ve worked at a Domino’s for the last two years, and it’s been a decent enough time. It’s a small shop, just three of us, me, Noah, and Steph, on the night shift. I’m in at eight in the evening, out by four in the morning. I do a bit of everything: man the cash register, check the inventory, make the pizzas, do delivery. It’s quiet and I remember that I liked that. Aside from the occasional rowdy schoolkids, no one comes in after nine or ten. 

And then… the ghost orders arrived. 

It was a Wednesday. I was working with Steph and Noah. Steph was rechecking inventory and Noah was off doing deliveries. It was raining, in that fine mist way. No puddles, just this wet film on everything. 

Since no orders had come in since Noah left, I was giving the floors a mopping. There were eighty-three and three one-quarter tiles in the front store, not counting the ones under the fridge or the perpetually empty booth. I divided them into ten sections: nine-by-nine, and then the three and three-quarters tiles by the window. The three and three one-quarter tiles by the windows had to be done in a specific order. I didn’t know why. Someone had trained me when I was hired. I can’t remember who it was. It must have been Noah, who had learned it from our boss. You couldn’t do it with the mop, you had to get down on your hands and knees with one of the rags, and you had to do it in the right order: right to left in descending parallel lines always massaging the dirty, soapy water into the grout with your fingertips, and always a single tile, or tile fraction, at a time. 

I don’t know whether it was the rain, or the hour. The overhead lights swung around in these tight circles, like they were being blown by the wind, while I worked, and when I got down on my hands and knees, they became… focused, like spotlights: one tile, then another, then another, outside the prescribed order. I touched the middle tile and got to work and the rain outside went from gentle mist to… 

When I regained consciousness, I was in the prep room putting stickers on the last of eight personal pizzas. The orders were all printed in abnormal, distorted letters. I could make out the vague hint of shapes I knew, only upside down or sideways, or with extra parts to the letters. My hands were sore from kneading the dough, which I realized had the softness and spring of human flesh, and my fingers smelled of pepperoni, anchovies, and pineapple. 

A dark blue Volvo, the color of the night sky, pulled up out front, and the rear side door opened. I knew the pizzas were for the car, and that it wanted me to deliver them. I called out for Steph and Noah, but they didn’t answer me. I was all alone. But there I was with that many pizzas, and I needed to be paid for my work, even if I didn’t remember doing the work, so I—well, I stacked them in my arms and walked them out. I stuck my head in the door and said, “Hello! I’ve got your order—” And as I glanced down to see what maniac had ordered fifteen pizzas at this time of night, I noticed that on each sticker, instead of a name, there was this smear of tomato sauce, too red to be genuine Domino’s. 

The car lurched forward and I was thrown into the back seat. The pizzas fell onto the floor and my feet were dangling out in the open air, and I looked up and saw there was a headless man in the driver’s seat. I screamed, of course, but he didn’t care. I’m not sure if headless men can hear, but if he could hear, he didn’t care. My legs and arse were getting wet from the rain, and the cold cut into my shins and feet. He drove, never speeding, but never slowing down. I had just gotten my feet into the car when he pulled up to a house at the end of a cul-de-sac and put the car in park. That was when I knew he, or whatever was controlling him, wanted… he wanted me to bring the pizzas to the door. So I did. I rang and I knocked and after two good tries, I put the pizzas on the porch and went back to the car. The car dropped me off at the shop and drove away. 

It’s been a month, and I’ve received four other orders to the same house. I’ve asked Noah and Steph and they say they’ve never seen any of these orders and they don’t notice me gone. I’ve tried getting the address of the house I’m always taken to, but there aren’t any identifying markers, and frankly, I’m too worried about getting all my limbs in the car to keep track. 

Please, Gertrude, I’m worried I’m losing my mind. I can’t tell who would eat eight individual pepperoni, anchovy, and pineapple pizzas. Is it worth for me to keep working at the Domino’s or should I quit? The dough… every time, I swear it feels more like skin. Your advice is very much appreciated. 

Yours sincerely, Domino’s Delivers 

Dear Domino’s Delivers, 

This is my third time running this column, and I must stress: I need to work with actual, pressing problems for this to be useful. Believe it or not, this is one of the less outlandish letters I’ve received this past week, so I will do my best to do my job. 

For those of you on your first tape, the Magnus Advisors is an audio newspaper distributed by your local CD shops and on strange street corners. We had, under my predecessor, Gertrude, a circulation of about two thousand. As I’ve explained in the last two columns, Gertrude has been "killed in the line of duty" and I have been enlisted to provide the backlog of eighty thousand advice seekers with corrections. 

So. Domino’s. I would first check in with your GP to rule out syncope, stroke, and the like. I can’t say I recommend quitting, since even abnormal workplaces provide one with a source of meaning and… and income, when necessary. Even when one is surrounded by suggestions of pizzas made of human flesh and blood, one can still find purpose, despite one’s reservations. 

If you are also in need of guidance, send us a letter to the Magnus Advisors and I’ll make one of my interns find something suitable for us to consider. 

There’s one thing that bothers me, and that’s the floor. Why such specific instructions for cleaning some tiles? Is there hidden treasure lodged beneath the drinks cooler? Another reason to stay at the store, Domino’s, in case you crack the code. 

Sincerely,  
Jonathan Sims, Head Advice Columnist

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] pie goeth before the fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455613) by [carboncopies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carboncopies/pseuds/carboncopies)


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